


I Go, I Go, I Go Alone

by Katharoses



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, World War II, this was supposed to be a quick meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katharoses/pseuds/Katharoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael had once painted her nails for her. She had been eleven, raided her mother's vanity and come away with a bottle of carmine red. He had come into her room and had seen her frantically trying to get the bright varnish out of the floorboards and had helped her clean it up as soon as he was done laughing. Michael had had no idea what he was doing with the brush, but had painted her chewed up nails anyways.<br/>Peggy looks at the red of her nails digging into the skin of her arm the night after the news. Sharp red nails piercing her skin. There was still a little carmine in between the floorboards from the puddle of red he had helped her mop up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Go, I Go, I Go Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the tags atwelling put on [ this post](http://atwellling.tumblr.com/post/138632085960/onceland-no-michael/). I started writing a long meta after the tags cut me off and about two paragraphs in I realized I was writing a fic.  
> There is non graphic violence and I talk about blood and grieving a fair amount.
> 
> Title is from Methusala by San Fermin

Michael was her first real loss in the war. The Blitz didn’t start until September 1940, Dunkirk had been an awful tragedy but Michael hadn’t died until July. Her big brother, her supporter suddenly gone, cut away from her. Peggy was stuck on that last night she had seen him, the argument they had never really had. Michael had died thinking she was going to marry Freddy, that she was angry with him still. Peggy had spent the funeral biting at her long red nails. She felt the ragged edges catch at the rayon of her dress and thought of when she was thirteen. Michael had caught a hangnail on a pair of her brand new stockings when she put them in his hand to show how soft they were. His nail had instantly made a run and Peggy had hit him in the shoulder and run off crying.

Peggy went on a walk with Freddy at his urging when she had brokenly begun to silently weep during the wake. She felt empty, like nothing was real around her, the sunlight and green seeming artificial against Michael's absence. Peggy realized that Fred had been speaking the whole time when he put his hand heavy on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Peg, did you hear me?” He spoke slowly and carefully, as though not to scare her.

“No, I’m afraid I was lost in thought.” Peggy’s reply sounded false to her ear even through the unreality she was feeling. She made an effort to pull herself closer to the surface and actually hear Freddy. “I’m sorry my darling, what were you saying?” Peggy was surprised at how rough her voice was, she sounded as though she had been shouting for hours. 

“Don’t apologize Peg, you’re grieving. I rather expect I shouldn't have assumed you were listening. I was only saying that perhaps it may be a good idea to name one of our children after him." Freddy paused for a moment, then hastily added, “If we happen to have a son of course! Although possibly Michaela for a girl, I suppose.” He looked at Peggy expectantly, hope and brightness dripping from his face. 

The words hit Peggy like a punch to the gut. She staggered slightly on the spot, Freddy reaching out with his other hand to steady her. Peggy knocked his hand away before he could reach her. How could she be thinking about children and mundanity when Michael had died horribly, pierced with shrapnel and lungs filled with water before his ship had even left harbour? She means to open her mouth and tell Freddy as much, but all that comes out is a horrible keening noise. Freddy reaches out to wraps her up in his arms, but Peggy chokes back her wail. She turns away from him and walks back to the house. 

That night she pins up her hair, the ritual of wrapping her damp hair around her fingers, pinning it to her head soothes her mind. As Peggy rotates her wrist she glances at the SOE letter, forgotten on her armoire. Hairpin in her teeth, she stops her movement and stares at it. Michael’s words come back to her mind, Peggy you were meant to fight. She winds the hair into a tight coil and pins it as she crosses over to the letter. Peggy feels the spot on the floor where she had spilled carmine red years ago under her feet. There’s still a little red in the cracks where Michael couldn’t get it out. She feels the swish of her robe against her legs, the right side of her hair not yet pinned up brushing her neck, the smooth envelope under her fingers. Peggy feels fire in her heart in a way she hasn’t since she got accepted to Bletchley.

The next day she puts on red, red lipstick brighter than she usually wears and a red, red dress she hasn’t worn since she met Freddy and he said it wasn’t a match for a sweet girl like her. Peggy sees Freddy frown when he sees the colour on her, the colour of violence, of passion. Peggy Carter is meant to be a fighter, she’s not backing down from this matter, she came with war paint, ready to win. 

“Peg, are you quite alright?” Freddy says it uncertainly, after all it was only yesterday she had collapsed in his arms and cried like the world was ending. Peggy takes a deep breath, fortifies herself for what she needs to say.

“Fred-” she starts.

“Of course you’re not alright,” Fred plows right over her words. Peggy has a nasty moment of clarity. Fred, he often cuts her off when she’s speaking.

“Goodness, what was I thinking, Peggy darling you’re in mourning, what are you doing dressed up like this? You’re not going out anywhere are you? You should be resting, sit down, I’ll bring you a glass of water.” Before Fred can leave the room she puts her hand in the middle of his chest, stopping him. 

“Freddy, listen to me, it’s important.” Peggy looks him right in the eye, her mouth slightly open, pleading. Fred nods,concerned. “I think I’m going to accept the offer the SOE gave me. I want to join the war, I want to fight.” As Peggy says the words aloud, she feels how right it is, how secure in her decision she is. This is the right thing to do, Michael always knew her so well.  
Fred bursts out laughing. He manages to get himself under control after a few seconds and choke out.

“No you’re not Peg, that’s completely out of the question! Goodness, become a spy? Really Peggy? It’s not as though it’s your brother’s dying wish that you must carry out to, keep your honour! No.” Peggy realizes then that she doesn’t love Freddy, she never did. 

“Fred, will you at least think about it?” Peggy pleads, a hail Mary. Fred sees how serious she is and calms himself. 

“If it means that much to you Margaret, of course I will.” It’s astounding how easily he lies to her, she thinks, and more so that she hadn’t noticed for so long. Peggy makes her decision, she chooses to take the path he offered her and fight.

She leaves the ring on the armoire. 

Peggy needed to find a way to know herself and be strong without Michael to lean on. She needed to be her own person by herself for the first time in her life. Peggy needed to find her own strength, her own value. She began to find her strength through violence. In her grief she buries herself in the training and she starts to realize how strong she is through fighting. It turns out that Peggy, fueled by her anger and grief, is a vicious fighter. She revels in her anger at the death and loss around her. The blitz has started now, she’s losing friends and people who she thought were safe, who she thought were protected but who are in truth more at the mercy of the war than she is. They never chose to throw themselves into the conflict, they are victims of the location of their homes. Peggy put herself here my her own volition, she signed up for bruised knuckles, mental exhaustion and lead-heavy sore arms. Peggy wears herself out to the point of exhaustion; at the end of the day she's almost too tired to think about Michael, to think about her school friend who was crushed by a falling wall on the second night of bombs falling, too tired to regret her choice.

Her work became important to her in a way it had never been before, she was doing a job that meant something. Peggy found her strength, how to be strong by herself at the same time that she was learning spycraft. With Michael’s words burning in her mind, Peggy you were made to fight, every day she feels how true they are. Peggy Carter is a fighter, her own person, she only needs herself, she is whole. She feels her grief over Michael pressing on her like the world on her shoulders, she feels the loss, the blood of war around her but none of that makes her a fragment. 

Her second loss was another woman she trained with, Bess, a friend. She had seen Bess touching up her lipstick the second day. Bess wore that same brand of velvety red Peggy had put on the last day she saw Fred, the same colour she wore now with her sharply starched uniform. Peggy steadied herself, walked over and brought what she hoped was a believable smile to her painted lips and said.

"Excuse me, Elizabeth? I believe we wear the same shade."

Bess had seen right through her brittle smile but returned it anyways, their red grimaces a matched set. They had learned to fight, to pick locks, to memorize, to blend in, that they were strong, side by side. Bess had been a friend in a way Peggy had never had female friends before. Peggy felt a kindred spirit in her, Bess understood the need to stand and fight, to live her own life. Bess was small, with dark hair and eyes, and a rare warm smile. She could make Peggy laugh and forget the anger and grief always pressing her into the ground for a minute. Bess was clever and could lie effortlessly in a way Peggy worked hard to be half as good at. They never spoke about the Blitz, or Michael, or the sweetheart Bess mentioned once and never again.

Bess had been sent on four missions successfully and had been gone on her fifth when Peggy had been sent on her third. Peggy had returned from the task bloody, having leapt into the getaway car, then the boat with no time or place to wash. The mission had gone badly, no one was meant to die but she got made and couldn’t escape without taking the man’s life. She knew it was necessary but she was still shaken and conflicted. Peggy could still feel the blood on her hands, she could hear Fred’s voice saying that’s not our Peg. She missed Bess’s face in the dining hall, and felt her stomach drop as the saw the look in her commanding officer’s eyes before their mouth opened to from the words. This time Peggy doesn’t crumple doesn’t whimper and scream the way she did after Michael, she only allows her face to fall. Keep Calm and Carry On. She feels the grief add to pool in her heart and she knows that it’s going to happen again, more people will die around her. She knows that it could be her face missing next, her blood under someone else's fingernails. But she made the choice to fight, the choice to be there in the blood and muck. She’s a fighter, so are all the women recruited at her side and to wish them home and safe is to devalue their choice.

By the time Peggy meets Steve she knows who she is, how to be strong that she is meant to fight and she sees that same determination and ferocity in him. She knows what it’s like to be told that she can’t do something and to force her way in anyways. Peggy made her choice over a year ago, she knows that what she’s doing is dangerous in a way that she didn’t truly appreciate until she missed Bess at supper while she could still imagine the hot slick stickiness of the blood on her hands. She knows all of this and maybe she even sees some of the naivety that she had before Michael was gone in Steve but she knows how important choosing your own path is and she would never take that away from anyone. She sees the same unshakable strength, the same desire to do what is right, that Steve is a fighter like her. More than that, he sees her, he respects her for who she is, for her decisions. He’s so unlike Fred, he sees Peggy not as an idea of a future wife but as a whole person. Peggy made her choice to leap into the fire and she realizes that Steve is making the same choice she did to run into the burning world and fight. 

Peggy became close with all the Howling Commandos, she went on missions with them often enough to be considered a member. Miss Union Jack, Dum Dum said it in a light tone but it was a confirmation of what they all already knew, that Peggy was a Howlie and there was no doubt about it. Everyone there had separately chosen to be in this unit, Steve gave them their choice the same way he had been given one, the same way Peggy had. Peggy was meant to be a fighter and here she was doing what was needed, what was necessary to stop real evil. The long red nails she had chewed off standing over Michaels empty grave never grew back. Peggy still painted them a bright shade that reminded her of Michael, of Bess, of Steve. Her flat thumbnails were better at pushing a cartridge into her sidearm than they'd ever been at needlework.

When they start to find death camps after Steve was gone into the ocean she wondered if she should have been fighting the main body of the Nazi’s instead of HYDRA; if perhaps the real face of evil had not been the Red Skull but ordinary people. Peggy Carter is a fighter, she knows that feeling cartilage crack under her fist is part of the choice she had made. The guards of these camps made their choice too and she feels no regret over those she kills. 

Then Bucky falls, and she sees her grief over Michael reflected in Steves slumped shoulders when she looks at him in that blackened bombed out bar. Peggy knows what it is to lose a brother, remembers whimpering his name and collapsing in her wedding dress, her own tears staining it minutes after her mother had stopped her own tears from falling on it. She knows the hollowness that Steve is feeling, she feels in in her bones. She and James had been friends, Peggy felt loss over him along with her grief for Michael pushing her to the floor. Peggy also remembers the letter she took, the choice she made, the choice Michael had made to fight, to put their lives on the line for what was right. Peggy keeps her knees steady under her and walks forward.  
Steve had made the choice to lie on enlistment forms, to force his body through training, to lie down in Howard Stark’s machine and let Abraham Erskine inject a serum that may have made him a monster, to rescue James against all orders and regard for his life. Steve knew about decisions, Peggy understood all of them, she had decided to fight over and over again, so had Steve, so had the Howlies, so had James. They had all fought, faced the enemy with all they had, but you can’t win every battle.

Peggy knows about choices. Peggy knows about fighting, about struggling. When Peggy speaks, she knows that Steve understood the choices that she had made, that James had made. Peggy also knew that he would need to hear it again, the same way that she had needed to see that SOE letter again, her hair wrapped around her fingers, Steve’s hand wrapped around the bottle. 

Peggy had been angry at Michael for going off and dying, for leaving her all alone. She remembered carefully taking off her veil, unbuttoning the back of her dress as far as she could reach with tears slowly tracking down her face, gasping for air, choking on her emotions. She remembers her father coming into the room to find her curled on the floor, her dress half unbuttoned, quietly shaking. He had gently sat her up, and wiped the tears off her face. They didn’t touch often anymore but he helped her out of the heavy gown and cradled her in a way that he hadn’t since she was a little girl, tears and snot mixed with lipstick staining her slip. She dragged herself out of the visceral memory Steve’s swollen, raw eyes had brought to the front of her mind. Peggy had been angry at Michael for leaving until she made the choice to fight herself and realized that he had made that same one.

Peggy had respected Michael more than anyone else in her life before the war. Her big brother had been everything to her for so many years, picking fights, fixing broken toys, sneaking into her room and making up stories as long as they’d lived under the same roof. Michael knew her as well as Steve knew James, right down to her soul. She felt in that moment everything that Michael had meant to her, the gap he had left in her life. Peggy looked at Steve and saw how his hands shook around the half empty bottle. She hadn’t had anyone around her who had understood the scope of Michael’s death to her, but she could understand what James’s was to Steve. She could offer confirmation to what she and Steve knew intimately, that to fight isn’t a choice that can be made for you. 

“ Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn sure must have thought you were worth it.” She spoke softly, but let the fire she felt show in the words.

Peggy saw Steve’s expression soften slightly as she spoke, then steel in a way she knew intimately. She had made that face as she put on her bright lipstick and her gore coloured dress, as she replaced a letter with a diamond ring. Peggy knew before he spoke that Steve was going to make the same choice that James had made, the she had made, that Michael had made, the choice to fight. Peggy knew she was a fighter, that it was the only choice she was ever going to make. 

Peggy knew the plan was risky, stupid even. Then again, all of Steve’s plans were to a point and if Peggy was being honest with herself, hers were as well. She felt the rightness of fighting with purpose flood her body as she climbed into the ridiculous car the Red Skull drove. Combat brought her a fierce joy now, it had for years ever since she realized that yes, Peggy Carter is meant to fight. The feeling surges as Steve climbs in behind her, as they chase the Valkyrie down the hangar at breakneck speed.

Peggy pulls Steve’s red mouth to hers and his is kiss soft, gentle, careful, so different from the ferocity she is feeling. Peggy isn’t certain that Phillips will be able to stop the car before they reach the edge, she could be dead in another minute, Steve could be dead just as soon. God, this could be the last time she sees the soft, surprised face Steve makes when she kisses him unexpectedly. Peggy stops that train of thought nearly as soon as it starts. Steven Rogers is meant to fight. Margaret Carter is meant to fight. Both of them have made their choice. Peggy sends Steve onto the Valkyrie with a smile, the smile she would never again show Bess, or James, or Michael.

Peggy Carter is a fighter.


End file.
